The Ghost and the Doppelganger

by Anna J. McIntyre

  “You’re saying, when my body dies, I should be able to join Stephanie?”

  Danielle studied Clint for a moment. “I suppose you’ll be able to. But first, you may have some penance to do before you can join her. I imagine Stephanie has her own penance she’s dealing with right now.”

  “What are you talking about?” He frowned.

  “During our lives, we all make mistakes. Some mistakes are more severe than others. Crimes we must atone for. I have no idea how you’ve lived your life up until this point. But I do know about the Bonnet paintings.”

  Clint stared at Danielle, momentarily speechless.

  She smiled at him. “Technically, you didn’t actually steal anything. We switched the paintings back after everyone went to bed last night.”

  Clint smiled and sat on the edge of the mattress.

  “You’re happy about that?” Danielle asked.

  Clint shrugged. “I don’t really care about the paintings now. And if we didn’t actually steal them—well, I’m thinking of Stephanie. She was afraid. This could be a good thing. It’s not like either of us lived a life of crime up until now.”

  “So what are you going to do? Linger here, or live your life? I’m not pressing charges about what you tried to do, so you won’t have to deal with that.”

  “I don’t care about the paintings. I only care about being with Stephanie.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I suppose the only thing I can do. Reconnect with my body and then commit suicide.” He flashed her a broad smile, obviously believing he had stumbled upon a brilliant solution.

  Danielle cringed and shook her head. “Ohhhhhh…I really don’t think you should do that.”

  “Why not? It’s the only solution,” he insisted.

  “Umm…not if you want to be with Stephanie when you eventually pass over.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “Cheating death—in this case—cheating life—comes with unavoidable consequences. Trust me, going that route is not going to get you to Stephanie any quicker than living out your natural life as the Universe intended. In fact, it will probably take you much longer to be with her again if you kill yourself.”

  Twenty-Four

  Danielle glanced at her watch and then stood up. “I need to go home,” she whispered.

  “You’re just going to leave me here?” Clint asked incredulously.

  “It’s up to you now. You can linger by your body until it dies, and possibly spend years in some dreary rest home. Or you can make an effort and reconnect with your body and live out your life as it’s supposed to be.”

  He shook his head. “I’m supposed to be with Stephanie.”

  Danielle shrugged. “I don’t know what else to say. I came here and did what I had to do. Now it’s time for me to go.”

  “And what were you supposed to do?” he asked.

  “When I heard you were still unconscious, I suspected your spirit-self had disconnected from your body. I’ve seen that happen a couple of times before. I was worried you might be confused and didn’t understand what you needed to do. But now you know what to do, and it’s your choice.”

  Danielle turned from Clint and started for the door.

  “And that’s it? You’re just walking out?”

  She paused a moment and turned to Clint. “I’m sorry. There is absolutely nothing I can do to help you. Whatever you choose—even if it’s suicide—well, you will have to live with the consequences of your choice—for eternity. Not for the rest of your life, but after your body dies. So think long and hard before you do anything. Goodbye, Clint. I wish you well.”

  When Danielle returned to Marlow House that afternoon, she was surprised to find Chris in the library with Walt. Walt sat on the sofa, clad in gray dress slacks and a white dress shirt, its sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Danielle was used to seeing Walt in three-piece suits—often without the jacket, and more often than not, in pinstripes. But she liked this look too.

  Chris sat in one of the chairs facing the sofa. Chris’s manner of dress was fairly typical for him, faded denims and a Keep Portland Weird T-shirt. It was a good disguise for someone who would prefer the world not know he was worth billions. While Chris enjoyed dressing down, his wardrobe was not without trendy clothes befitting a man of his station. Yet it didn’t matter if he dressed as a beach bum or a man who had just stepped off the cover of GQ, women’s heads turned when he walked by.

  “What are you two up to?” Danielle asked as she walked into the room.

  “We were discussing the portraits,” Walt explained. “But first, tell us. Did you find my cousin?”

  “Oh yes…” Danielle plopped down on the sofa next to Walt and propped her feet on the coffee table after kicking off her shoes. “He was at the hospital with his body. And he’s reluctant to—well—get back in it.”

  “What does he want to do?” Chris asked.

  “He wants to move on with Stephanie.”

  “Isn’t that a little drastic, considering she’s dead?” Chris asked.

  Danielle shrugged. “He even suggested returning to his body and then killing himself so he could be with her.”

  “If my cousin was a woman, I might wonder if he was Hindu,” Walt said dryly.

  “Ah, you mean the practice of sati, where a widow throws herself on her husband’s funeral pyre,” Chris said with a chuckle.

  “I don’t think he was suggesting anything that dramatic,” Danielle said. “But in defense of those women, I believe the practice grew out of a widow’s fear of being taken prisoner and raped after battle.”

  “What does Walt’s cousin fear?” Chris asked. “Being arrested for trying to steal your portraits?”

  Danielle shook her head. “No. I already told him I knew what he had done, and I have no intention of pressing charges. I really think it’s just about Stephanie. He seemed sincere in wanting to be with her. Which I find interesting, because he’s not particularly loveable.” Danielle glanced at Walt and added, “No offence.”

  Walt shrugged. “None taken.”

  “I just find it peculiar that someone who is that—well, cold in many ways actually cares for someone that deeply.”

  “You know, Danielle, they say there is someone for everyone,” Chris reminded her.

  “I suppose. And I do feel bad for him.” Danielle let out a sigh and leaned back on the sofa.

  “So what is he going to do?” Walt asked.

  “I assume he will eventually come to his senses after he gets bored hanging around the hospital, talking to an occasional spirit who has recently passed. Maybe he just has to mourn for Stephanie before he can reconnect with his body. But I’ve done my good deed for the day. Tried to explain to him how it all works.”

  “Better you than me,” Chris said with a chuckle.

  “I have an idea why my cousin is reluctant to resume his life, and it’s not all about Stephanie.”

  “What then? I told him I wouldn’t press charges.”

  “Remember, according to the chief, they had one-way tickets to Paris. I have a good idea Clint has already severed ties with his life in California. I imagine he’s moved out of his home there and quit his job. He may have burned all his bridges already and has nowhere to go.”

  Chris nodded in agreement. “Walt’s probably right.”

  “I usually am.”

  Chris rolled his eyes, and Danielle sat up a little straighter and removed her feet from the coffee table, setting them on the floor. She glanced from Walt to Chris and said, “So tell me, you said you were discussing the portraits. What about them?”

  “Chris has offered to buy them,” Walt told her. “And I think you should sell them to him.”

  Now frowning, Danielle glanced from Walt to Chris. “Why would you want to buy them?”

  “Eva got me thinking about it,” Chris said. “I happen to agree with her. I think her portrait belongs in Frederickport. I also think Walt’s belong here too. The museum o
bviously can’t afford them, and it’s not safe for you to keep them at Marlow House. Even with Walt here.”

  “So what do you propose?” Danielle asked.

  “I can purchase them—or Chris Glandon can—and then loan them back to the museum. Of course, there will need to be a new section added to the museum to house the paintings and to keep them secure. There is room to do that, and I can pay for it. I can also cover the expense for the extra security. I’ve already spoken to the board on behalf of my other self.” Chris chuckled, because the board of directors of the Historical Society had no idea the affable Chris Johnson, who worked for the Glandon Foundation, was actually its founder, Chris Glandon.

  “And they want to do this?”

  “I offered them five million for Eva’s painting, the same price as the last Bonnet went for auction. They won’t be losing the painting, and they’ll be gaining two more for their exhibit—yours if you agree—which will put the little museum on the map. I suspect they’re relieved I’m handling this. According to Ian, they were a little overwhelmed at the thought of contacting buyers while securing the paintings. We also agreed to bring in an art expert to authenticate them. If they aren’t authentic, then I won’t be buying them, but it won’t cost the museum anything. I’ll handle that. And we’ll also have the paintings appraised, and if they come in at more than five million, I’ll renegotiate the prices. I figure I’ll pay you whatever the appraiser says yours are worth.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot of money, Chris,” Danielle stammered.

  “Yeah, well, I have a lot of money.” Chris grinned.

  “I think we have company,” Walt said dryly.

  Both Danielle and Chris turned in the direction Walt was looking. Clint Marlow stood at the doorway into the library, staring at Walt.

  “I don’t understand,” Clint stammered, walking into the room, his attention still on Walt.

  “I guess he didn’t go back into his body,” Chris said under his breath.

  “Who are you?” Clint demanded of Walt, now standing just a few feet from the sofa. “And you can see me, like Danielle can.” Clint blinked his eyes in confusion, still staring at Walt. “You look just like me.”

  “Technically, you look just like me,” Walt said.

  Shaking his head, Clint backed away from the sofa. “I don’t understand. Is this some kind of weird dream? Has this all been a dream?”

  “I’d offer to pinch you, but in your state, you can’t feel pinches.” Walt waved his hand and a lit cigar appeared between two of his fingertips. He took a puff.

  Still dazed, Clint took another step backwards and then looked over to Chris, who was staring at him. “You can see me?”

  Chris smiled sympathetically at Clint. “Yes. I’m like Danielle; I can see spirits like you. And ghosts.” He turned to Walt and added, “Ghosts like Walt here.”

  Walt glared at Chris and took another puff off the cigar.

  “Walt? Walt Marlow…the one in the portrait?” Clint glanced over to Walt’s life-sized portrait.

  “I think he’s starting to get it,” Walt said.

  “Yes. After your cousin, Walt Marlow, was killed in this house, his spirit never left. He’s always been here, yet you couldn’t see him before,” Danielle explained. “But in the state you are in now, you can see him—just like Chris and I can.”

  Clint looked back to Danielle. “If my cousin has been haunting Marlow House all these years, and you can see him, why did you tell me I had to go back in my body?”

  “Because unlike me, you aren’t dead,” Walt told his cousin.

  “Then why did Stephanie have to leave me?” Clint asked. “Why didn’t she stay with me?”

  “I don’t think she had a choice,” Chris told him.

  Clint turned to Walt and said, “Danielle told me there’s another place after this. A place where Stephanie went.”

  Walt met Clint’s gaze and arched his brow. “And?”

  “Why are you here and not there?”

  “It’s complicated,” Danielle said. “Not everyone’s path is the same.”

  “If that’s true, then why did you tell me I had to go back in my body and not follow Stephanie?”

  “Because that’s how it works,” she said impatiently.

  “No. You just said everyone’s path is not the same. If Stephanie had to go, and Walt got to stay, then I don’t see why I can’t refuse to reconnect with my body and move on.”

  “You can try that, but I don’t think it’s going to work out for you,” Chris muttered.

  Twenty-Five

  Clint did not linger at Marlow House arguing about his choices. He vanished, leaving the three wondering what he intended to do. Danielle called Lily to tell her what had been going on, and it was agreed that Lily and Ian would pick up Chinese food later and bring it to Marlow House for dinner. Also invited to the impromptu Wednesday evening meal were Heather Donovan and Chris.

  Heather showed up wearing black leggings, black knee-high boots, and a long black, cowl-neck sweater. Instead of the traditional braids or pigtails she frequently wore, tonight her dark hair was down, freshly washed, falling silky and smooth past her shoulders, with her straight-cut bangs covering her eyebrows. Chris showed up wearing what he had been wearing earlier that day.

  The five friends sat in the living room of Marlow House, eating Chinese food from paper containers and off paper plates. Walt was there too, but unlike the rest, smoking instead of eating.

  Ian and Lily had brought Sadie with them. To leave her at home would have disappointed Walt. Before settling down on Walt’s feet, the golden retriever made the rounds, her curious nose sniffing for food while her tail wagged. Yet no one seemed inclined to sneak her a bite. It wasn’t Ian’s stern, “Sadie, go lie down!” that got her to curl up by Walt. It was when in the next moment Walt told her, “I doubt you’ll even like Chinese food,” that she stopped begging. Of course, Ian assumed she had acquiesced because of his command.

  Sitting on a chair, Heather held a small take-out container in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other. She wrestled chow mien with the ends of her chopsticks, determined to eat her dinner without the assistance of a fork. While struggling with her food, she asked, “How exactly is Clint supposed to get back in his body?”

  Chris and Lily—each of whom had had that experience—exchanged glances and shrugged. “It’s kind of hard to explain,” Chris said.

  “Then how does Danielle expect Clint to just reconnect with his body?” Heather shoveled some chow mien into her mouth and made a slurping sound.

  “I think the main thing is just understanding what has happened,” Lily said. “After that, it’s…well, intuitive.”

  “Rather like a spirit who understands how to move on after he finally grasps the fact he is dead,” Chris added.

  After chewing and swallowing her food, Heather said, “I can’t imagine just leaving my body unsupervised. Didn’t Eva say when you do that, another spirit can jump into it? And heck, his body is in the ICU, and I imagine there are spirits coming and going there, some who would love a fresh body to jump into.”

  Lily cringed. “That thought kinda gives me the creeps. It makes me think of wearing someone else’s unwashed underwear.”

  About to take a bite of food, Danielle paused. Setting her chopsticks down on her paper plate, she frowned at her best friend. “Seriously, Lily? I’m trying to eat here.”

  Lily giggled sheepishly. “Sorry, Dani.”

  Rolling her eyes, Danielle shook her head, picked her chopsticks up, and resumed eating.

  A new thought suddenly occurred to Heather. She looked at Walt and blurted, “Why don’t you take Clint’s body? After all, he doesn’t want it.”

  Walt shivered at the thought and shook his head. “What Lily said.”

  Lily stopped eating and looked to where she believed Walt stood. “Could Walt do that?”

  “I think your underwear analogy summed up Walt’s feelings on the subject,” Chris told
Lily.

  “Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any weirder,” Ian muttered, “we start talking about body swapping.”

  Their conversation was interrupted when the doorbell rang. Danielle stood up and set her plate on the coffee table. “I’ll get that.”

  Sadie jumped up and started to follow Danielle into the hallway when Ian called her back. Reluctantly, the dog returned to the living room.

  When Danielle opened her front door a few moments later, she found herself looking into the face of Macbeth Bandoni, aka Jim Hill. His appearance startled her, yet not as much as the fact he was not alone. Standing next to him were three large men. She suspected they were the same men who had helped swap the portraits while she was at the restaurant the night before.

  “Jim…oh…this is a surprise,” Danielle stammered, making no attempt to invite him inside. She glanced nervously into the house, toward the doorway leading to the living room. She could hear the faint voices and laughter of her friends. Danielle briefly wished Ian hadn’t called Sadie back into the living room. She looked back to Macbeth and forced a smile.

  “I just heard the news. Is it true?” Jim asked.

  “I’m afraid so.” Danielle continued to stand in the doorway, her right hand clutching the edge of the front door, blocking Jim’s entrance into the house. “Their car went off the side of the road and over a cliff. The police think Stephanie might have swerved to avoid an animal on the highway. They said she died on impact. But Clint, well, he’s in the local hospital, in the ICU. The last I heard, he was still unconscious.”

  “And the paintings?” Macbeth asked.

  “Returning to the scene of the crime?” Walt said when he appeared—only visible to Danielle.

  Danielle relaxed, no longer nervous now that Walt was by her side.

  “The paintings?” Danielle asked innocently.

  “I know it may seem insensitive of me to ask, but I did put my heart and soul into those paintings. An artist always has an emotional attachment to his work, even if it’s just a reproduction of another artist’s creation. I have to know; did they survive the crash?”